


VERBOTEN

by NikoNotHere



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Anger Management, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Drugged Sex, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Heavy BDSM, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Prostitution, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Unconscious Sex, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:06:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26827831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikoNotHere/pseuds/NikoNotHere
Summary: Till and Flake live under the tight thumb of a sketchy organization. The work is shady, illegal, and dehumanizing, but the two somehow manage. They don't really have a choice.Meanwhile, Schneider and Oliver are the front face of the organization, providing high quality services at equally high prices. The organization ensures their lavish lifestyles, so long as neither cross it...
Relationships: Paul Landers/Christoph Schneider | Doom
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	1. New Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING  
> \--------  
> This little October project is extremely, extremely dark, so please pay attention to the many trigger warnings, and definitely don't read if any of it sounds distressing. 
> 
> Trigger warnings include rape/non-con, violent sex, forced prostitution, heavy/prolonged drug abuse and addiction (including withdrawal), and continuous sex slavery.
> 
> This fic isn't for everyone, and it will just get darker as it goes on.

Till glanced up as Flake's plate clattered down onto the small metal table. The frail-looking man that sat down across from him was always wired when he came back from the doctors; he shook pretty badly for a solid hour before he seemed to calm down each night.

Till had learned quickly that Flake didn't speak, and had only figured what he assumed was his name because of a sort of military-style dog tag that he wore on his bony wrist. All it read was “#2 Flake-- S.” Till had a similar one: “#1 Till-- D.” They never told him outright, but Till understood it was akin to a name tag and designation for him. He was likely the first one brought into this-- well, business was the word for it-- and that was why his tag had a #1. Flake, his only other roommate, had come after the first few months he’d spent alone, and that’s why his tag was #2. As for the letters after their names, it was probably their roles.

He wasn't entirely sure, but from the little he'd overheard from attendants, Flake’s work seemed to involve him doing little to nothing active. He was probably drugged up to be docile and uncaring to fit that role even further, though Till guessed his personality wasn't that far off anyway. Whatever the role, Till had seen Flake carried back several times barely conscious, bloody, and bruised, and always taken immediately to the doctor. When he returned from the doctor, he was always hyper-- shaking and antsy as he got his food and sat down across from Till. 

The two would then eat their dinner, finish cleaning themselves up if the doctors hadn't been thorough, then go to bed, helped by a hefty dose of sleeping pills in Till's case. He envied Flake's ability to sleep without assistance, though was still grateful every time Flake mutely held his trembling hand out to him at dinner. He took the offered pills with a grunt of thanks. Till had become acclimated to his normal dosage after the first few weeks, and thankfully with the addition of Flake's, he'd manage something of an acceptable form of unconsciousness each night without incurring even more costs on his statements. He knew the sleep with Flake’s medicine wouldn't last forever, so he was grateful for the time being that they still worked.

They now sat in silence apart from their mutual chewing. The food was just normal food-- nothing disgusting but also not especially tasty. It was actually somewhat bland, which Till assumed was to keep their digestive systems as clean as possible. He also figured it was a strict diet designed for maximum healthiness and curated for them each specifically. When Flake had first arrived, they were forced to eat separately, across the room from one another and with an attendant monitoring them both. This had initially made Till concerned that Flake was somehow dangerous, but he eventually realized they were trying to ensure neither swapped their food. 

Flake had much smaller portions, and slightly different food than he did. Till’s meals were always protein-heavy with a few healthy vegetables and some sweet things now and then. He knew exactly the type of client he’d have the following morning if he were given sweet juice followed by a large dessert with his dinner.

His roommate’s food was always vegetarian, high in fiber and looked even more bland than Till’s. He almost felt sorry for the man, and once they’d been allowed to eat together without a monitor, Till subtly offered him some of his food. It wouldn’t look good on him, he was sure, if the man starved to death. Not only had Flake refused the food, he seemed uncomfortable or maybe even scared that Till tried to talk to him in the first place. He wasn't sure if that were something the overly-thin man was cursed from birth with, or a side effect of their "work." Could be both, really. 

Till knew he'd turned into an exaggerated form of his own self, what little he could remember of himself before this work. He'd lost track of time entirely after the first few months. Days blurred together, punctuated only by the same three things each day: work, recuperation, and sleep. Sometimes the three came in different orders and amounts, but the end of the day always resulted in food and then sleep. It was a decent routine, Till thought, or as decent as his life could be called right now. He doubted others on the outside would call it anything remotely close to “decent.”

A door closing in the hallway interrupted Till's numb musings and Flake’s silent shaking as they ate. They both looked up, and saw one of their attendants helping someone else stumble in. Flake shrunk back slightly while Till stared impassively at the new person. The dark-haired man looked like he was shaking almost as badly as Flake. The attendant sat him down across the room on the only other chair. He set a plate of similar-looking food in the man’s lap and a bottle of water on the floor, then dropped some medication into his trembling hand. 

“That’ll take the edge off and help you sleep,” the attendant said. “Your nausea should fade so you can eat, too. We’ll be back in the morning to take your vitals. If there’s an emergency, press the button here on the PA system. We don’t have a bed but they’ll bring you a sleeping bag.” With that brusque set of instructions, the attendant left. Apparently he wasn’t concerned about the newcomer stealing food.

Till continued to stare at the man, who quickly threw the pills back and swallowed them without bothering to chase them with water. He looked down at his plate of food, shuddered, then set the full plate on the floor next to the water bottle without eating. He drew up his legs and hugged them tightly against his white-clothed body. The man looked like he had a cold or something, Till deduced, as he kept wiping his nose and sniffling. Granted, it could be just from the chilly air outside. Who knows where they picked this one up from. 

He himself had been dragged out of a gutter, drunk beyond help and bloodied from the most recent bar fight. Till didn’t remember most of his last year as a bouncer, mainly because he’d been blacked out for pretty much all of it. That last night, he vaguely recalled picking a fight with someone extremely wealthy and extremely ill-tempered. He’d thrown a hefty punch, feeling violent and invincible as he always did, and was promptly laid out by the wealthy man’s bodyguards-- whom Till had not seen until they were beating the living shit out of him. He didn’t remember anything until he woke up signing some papers that were too blurry for him to read. He then faded in and out, only barely noticing as he was dressed in plain white clothes and given fluids intravenously throughout the night. 

The next morning he’d woken up feeling surprisingly decent, albeit extremely confused. An attendant had informed him of his situation, which in retrospect was more of a courtesy than giving him any options.

Till had been shown his new contract-- in which he apparently agreed to pay back an exorbitant amount of money to the man he’d cold-cocked to avoid being taken straight to jail for assault. In order to pay, he’d also signed himself into this facility on some sort of experimental work program. He’d only barely been given time to look over his “contract” before someone else had given the actual ultimatum for him in non-legalese: either he kept his mouth shut and did the work provided to him, or he’d be thrown out on his ass with zero protection and immediately turned in to the police. Obviously he’d not been too keen on that, so he agreed to go along with whatever this work program was. He’d been stripped of access to the “outside,” such as internet or phone access, and then been told in detail what he was expected to do.

Before Till could revisit that meeting for the millionth time, the new “worker” cleared his throat to get his attention.

“Hey,” the man said, his voice hesitant and weak. “Um, I’m Richard. What’s your name?”

It felt incredibly weird to hear someone talking to him like this, just conversing and friendly. Flake scooted his chair slightly further away and ate the rest of his food in a hurry, ducking his head and hiding as best he could. Till almost felt like he didn’t know how to respond. It had been so long since he’d had a conversation…

“Till,” he heard himself say, his voice gravelly and strange to hear. He didn’t normally speak so quietly. Or did he?

Flake’s distress seemed to increase with the talking, and he stood up abruptly. Till watched as the freakishly tall, thin man walked around the outside of the room, well away from “Richard” as he dropped off his plate in the little designated slot. He then awkwardly shuffled out of the room to the bathroom, not even looking in anyone’s direction as he left.

At Richard’s wide-eyed look, he added as he pointed toward the departed man, “Flake. Doesn’t talk.”

With a slow nod, Richard began looking around the room, finally taking in his new surroundings. The room really wasn’t bad, Till thought. The carpet was dull-looking, but clean. He and Flake shared a fairly comfortable bunk bed, of which Till slept on the bottom half. The rest of the room had exactly one small card table with two chairs where they ate, and a sort of sofa-type chair along the other wall beside the PA system that Richard was currently curled up in. The lights were fluorescent and somewhat harsh, but Till was used to it. The only other feature of the small room was a slot next to the door where Till and Flake slid their dishes after dinner. They had water bottles they could refill at the fountain in the hall beside the bathroom. The hallway led two separate directions: one way ended at the doctor’s office, which they were required to visit after work each day and where attendants came from; and the other ended in several windowless rooms where Flake and Till each began their work days, and where he could only assume Richard would be joining soon.

At the thought of the man, Till turned his attention back to their newest roommate who was rubbing at his arms frantically.

“They’ll bring a sleeping bag,” Till said, and was utterly confused by his attempt at reassuring Richard. Was it even a reassurance, or was he trying to repeat what the orderly had said? He really didn’t know how to properly communicate like a human being anymore. 

That thought jolted through Till’s mind like a knife, and it hurt. 

Thankfully Flake came back into the room then, blinking hard as he always left his glasses in the bathroom for the attendants to clean and repair, if necessary. It was almost always necessary, based on how cockeyed and bent they were when Flake came back each day.

Till took the rest of his food, suddenly not hungry, and dumped it in the trash can before sliding the plate into the slot. He knew he’d be charged for food waste, but he didn’t care. He didn’t feel like using the bathroom either, and trudged back to his bunk as Flake did likewise. The gangly man clambered up the ladder along the end of the bunk bed as Till slid into bed, facing the wall and away from the rest of the room as he always did. He downed the sleeping pills with a swig from his water bottle, then settled under his blanket. The lights wouldn’t dim for another hour or so, but he could fall asleep fairly quickly by throwing his blanket over his head to block the room’s light. 

Just as he felt himself beginning to drift off, rustling in the bed above alerted him to Flake’s discomfort. When Flake couldn’t sleep, he became extremely fidgety and rolled over again and again in bed. It was miserable for Till, as he could feel every tiny movement from the man vibrating through the bed frame. 

With a heavy grunt, Till rolled over and took the blanket off his head, trying to figure out what was keeping Flake awake. Normally the man was dead asleep within five minutes, lights or no lights. One of the times he couldn’t sleep, Flake had caught some kind of stomach flu and couldn’t stay in bed more than an hour at a time before having to run back to the bathroom. The only other time Till could recall Flake’s sleeplessness had been when the air conditioning in the room hit some sort of internal snag, and a metallic clicking noise sounded whenever the air kicked on. It had driven Flake crazy, which had in turn made Till violently angry. After agonizing hours of restless movements above him, he’d gotten up and smashed the vent so thoroughly that the clicking noises stopped. The next day Till had seen a charge for new vents and parts on his statements. He didn’t care.

Now, he could hear a light, rhythmic tapping noise. He looked over at the huddled form still sitting in the chair and saw the man was shaking so hard the chair was hitting the wall. Till’s first thought was to stomp over and yank him out of the chair and onto the floor, solving the noise problem very quickly. But he knew he’d be punished for even touching, much less harming another roommate, not to mention adding even more onto his statements and debts. After a few moments of deliberation and feeling Flake’s troubled tossing around, he grunted again and got out of bed. He grabbed his blanket and brought it with him over to Richard, who blearily looked up at him amidst his shaking. The man was sweating-- either that or crying-- but was still trembling like he was freezing to death. It was definitely not cold in their room. It was usually too hot, in Till’s opinion, but again he was used to it.

He didn’t know if it would really help, but Till dropped the blanket unceremoniously onto Richard.  
“I dunno when they’re bringing the sleeping bag,” he growled in explanation, then went back to his bed after hooking his foot around the chair and pulling back slightly from the wall to keep it from hitting against the bricks. 

Till flopped back onto his bed and felt irritated immediately. Though the room was hot, he hated not having the security of a blanket wrapped around him. It was too bright, too hot, and too open.

Only after a few minutes of trying to force his eyes closed and ignore the bright lights, he felt a blanket drifting gently down onto him. His eyes shot open, and he caught the tiniest flash of long brown hair as Flake leaned back up onto his bed. Till blinked his eyes in surprise at the sight of Flake’s blanket on him. He only paused for a moment before quickly unfolding it and wrapping himself tightly in the coarse fabric before Flake changed his mind. It smelled weird, but it would do. At least it blocked the light to let him sleep.

Till felt the medicine finally kicking in as he rolled back toward the wall, and soon a heavy, vividly dream-filled sleep overwhelmed him.

\---

Meanwhile...

\---

Christoph Schneider settled into his desk, a travel mug of coffee placed just so next to his computer which read 23:00 in bright numbers across the screen. He wouldn’t drink the coffee, of course. It stained his teeth and fouled his breath, neither of which were acceptable. He simply enjoyed the smell of it every night, and seeing the gentle vapors of warmth rising from the mouth of the mug soothed him further. Though he started his work when most people were just settling in for sleep, he wouldn’t trade it for the world. He was given such freedom-- not to mention such money-- for something he’d likely be doing anyway. It was perfect.

His phone dinged pleasantly, and he picked it up with a smile.  
“Good evening, Alana. Mhmm. Oh? They sound lovely. Yes, I think I would like to meet with them. Send them in, please. Thank you.”

Schneider took a deep breath and smoothed his silk tie self-assuredly. He rose from his chair with an absolutely dazzling smile as a handsome couple entered his lavish office and introduced themselves.

He loved his work.


	2. Work Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Richard gets used to his first day in the compound, Till and Flake have a hard day at work. Schneider has a good day, but a problem of his own crops up.

With a final sigh, Schneider raised his eyes to meet the woman's before him. He gave a charming grin, which the woman met with a flustered but contented gaze. 

"Make sure to lie still," he crooned, gently adjusting the woman's legs on his shoulders. "I'll switch with your partner in a moment, and then you'll just keep your legs elevated for at least fifteen minutes."

The woman hung her head and let out a breathless chuckle, then looked back up almost shyly at Schneider from under her slightly-mussed hair.  
"Thank you," she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

Schneider's smile never left his face as he nodded.  
"Of course, dear. It was my pleasure."  
He leaned forward and placed a very sweet kiss against her cheek, sealing his words.

True to his word, Schneider smoothly slid from his spot between the woman's legs and guided the onlooking man to sit in his place, resting the woman's legs up on his shoulders instead. The other man couldn't stop smiling, and immediately bent down to passionately kiss the woman.

Schneider deftly moved off the bed to give the couple their space. They'd discussed their expectations prior to the session, and Schneider prided himself on his attention to detail. This particular couple wanted him to leave quietly afterward, and in his view, they seemed perfectly satisfied with his work.

With not a word more, Schneider gathered his clothes and dressed in the hallway outside the master bedroom. He was used to the hasty exits, and even though he preferred to see the session through to the end, he completely understood that the partner wanted to feel as though he were part of the process as well. Plus, he was always paid as though he stayed, so it worked in his favor if his session was shorter.

After a final tug at his tie to straighten it, Schneider glanced at himself in the mirror. After ensuring he didn't look like he'd just spent the past two hours having sex, he nodded at his reflection.

"One more satisfied client," he said happily under his breath as he left the lavish house.

He called his work cab that promptly picked him up, allowing him to gaze out the window at the inky sky. Night was always peaceful, and reminded Schneider yet again how much he loved working in the evening. Everything was so still and quiet. It was downright beautiful.

Schneider’s cheery mood lingered as he got dropped off back at the office. He even felt the urge to whistle as he walked down the hall to drop off his papers. He refrained, though. Oliver wasn’t particularly fond of his sunny disposition. Schneider guessed he was a morning person.

Today was no exception to the bookkeeper’s distaste of him. Schneider still flashed a bright smile as he walked into Oliver’s office, flourishing his folder.

“Another one done,” he said happily, dropping the paperwork on his desk.

Oliver turned away from whatever he’d been typing and gave him a blank stare, which Schneider knew was as good as a scowl.

“I uh, I think this one should be good to go,” he said, faltering a bit. The man’s eyes were so… blank. It unnerved him. “I don’t think I’ll have to follow up with them, I mean. Unless they need a purely “social” call, in which case--”

“I don’t care,” Oliver said as he grabbed the folder and flipped through it brusquely. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly halfway through, and Schneider gave an awkward cough.

“The couple was a bit superstitious,” Schneider explained. “They wanted a girl, and insisted that I had to make a special tea beforehand since I was doing the ah, well, the--”

“I still don’t care,” Oliver interrupted, turning the page brusquely. Schneider was grateful for it. He personally had no issues accommodating client’s superstitions or preferences, even if they seemed odd. The ultimate goal was always their comfort and satisfaction first, whatever it took. But he felt damn silly explaining some of their insistence to Oliver, who had to bill the clients accordingly. 

After finishing his look-through, Oliver set the folder down and went back to typing.

Schneider blinked. “Right. Well, does it all seem in order? I tried to remember to put the final totals in that one column like you asked--”

“It’s fine,” Oliver cut him off yet again. He turned his head to give a disapproving stare at him.

Schneider thought the man was about to criticize his outfit or something as he seemed to be in an especially grouchy mood tonight, but was surprised to see Oliver’s brow knit together in a frown. Oliver looked past him and out into the hallway.  
“Were you expecting another client meeting?” he asked in confusion.

“What? No, I’ve only got one more client tonight at 3…”  
His voice trailed off as he turned and looked where Oliver was pointing.

A short, haggard-looking man was stumbling down the hallway toward them with their secretary, Alana, close behind him. It looked as though she were trying to pull him back to the reception area, but failing.

Schneider squinted. Why did this man look so familiar?

“Please, sir,” Alana begged, “we can’t have you back here. Come back to reception and I’ll--”

“Don’t touch me,” the small man slurred, yanking his arm free of her grasp. “ ‘m gonna find that ugly asshole and punch his cock back up inside him.”

As the man drew closer and his face finally became visible, Schneider’s eyes widened and his throat closed in a choked gasp.

“Shit.”

\---

The buzzing of their room’s alarm clock pierced through Flake’s thoughts. He wasn’t asleep; he rarely slept anymore. He got enough “rest” during his work day, and sleep brought nightmares that he couldn’t deal with. It was lucky Till needed Flake’s sleep medicine. He didn’t know what they’d do to him if they saw the medicine in the garbage or hidden somewhere.

It was colder than normal as Flake sat up--though to be fair, he was always somewhat cold-- but then he remembered he’d given Till his blanket. Even with the addition of Flake’s pills, Till sometimes had trouble sleeping, so he hadn’t thought twice before dropping his blanket down onto his bunkmate last night. Now, he glanced nervously over at the new addition to their room, and was relieved to see “Richard” still in the chair, slumped to the side under Till’s blanket and snoring. The food tray beside the chair was now empty.

Flake cocked his head as he lightly slid down to the floor from his bunk. Till and Richard’s snores were in sync, somehow, and it made a very pleasant rhythm in his ears. He made a soft humming noise as he padded quietly to the bathroom. Till never registered the alarm right away, so Flake tended to get the bathroom first in the morning. It only took a few minutes for Flake to brush his teeth, clean and prepare himself and grab his glasses anyhow. Till sometimes took a little longer.

Flake blinked hard as he slapped the light on in the bathroom. Their room stayed dim until they got back in the afternoon and evening. The only reason Flake knew this was because of the one day he’d been forced to stay in the room when he had a stomach virus. At 4pm sharp while Flake had been fading in and out of fever dreams between bouts of vomiting, the lights had flicked on to full brightness and blasted his eyes. He’d whimpered in pain for a while, too weak to leave the bed. Once he realized his small cries went unheeded, and he couldn’t ask them to dim the lights himself, Flake pressed his sweaty face into the pillow and tried to rest regardless. After a few times where he’d not managed to reach the bathroom before throwing up, they’d at least brought him a trash can, though the lights stayed on until bedtime that night.

Back in the present, Flake had finished cleaning up, brushing his teeth, and rinsing his mouth out. He made a disgusted face as he remembered the unpleasantness of that day. He thought for sure he’d been dying. He hadn’t been so lucky.

A second alarm sounded, echoing into the bathroom and alerting Flake that they had about fifteen minutes to dress properly and head to the loading dock. As he trotted briskly back to his room to get changed, Flake glanced at his schedule on the wall. Only one session. This excited him greatly. Perhaps he would get back early, then after the doctor check he could read, or...

Flake’s hopes crushed instantly under the weight of the additional information on the schedule. His session was slotted for three normal slots, meaning instead of the normal two hours that most booked him for, he’d be there for six. He was also crossed off the schedule for the next day. Flake swallowed hard and hung his head as he went back into the room. That meant he wouldn’t be walking back from today’s session.

A very groggy Till passed him on his way to the bathroom and waved a low hand in greeting. Flake gave the tiniest nod of his head in acknowledgement without looking over. He went to the small footlocker at the end of the bed and grabbed his clean jumpsuit to put on for the day. Some clients kept it on, others took it off themselves, and sometimes he went naked right from the beginning. It usually stated on his schedule what he was expected to wear or not wear, and today’s didn’t have any notes. Maybe they would just scream at him today. Flake didn’t hold his breath, though.

“That’s a really ugly suit.”

Flake jumped at the sudden voice, nearly breaking his zipper as he got dressed. He backed up toward the bed in reflex, then remembered they had another person in the room. His memory was such shit now. 

The new roommate had shifted slightly in the chair, sitting up while still mostly wrapped in Till’s blanket, shivering occasionally. His eyes looked bloodshot and extremely sleep-deprived. Flake ducked his head again and scooted to the other side of the room, behind the end of the bunk bed. He hoped that was enough of a signal for Richard to stop trying to--

“Do you really not talk, or do you just not want to? I heard it’s like a sign of genius or something to be mute, but I don’t think so.”

Flake’s gaze darted rapidly back and forth between his jammed zipper and the talkative man in the chair. Why wouldn’t he just shut up? He frantically tugged at the stuck piece of metal, trying to close his ears to the continued chatter. Please, just be quiet…

Till’s broad figure suddenly appeared in front of him and grabbed his zipper out of his hands. Flake flinched hard as Till yanked the zipper, freeing it, then flinched again when the bigger man patted his jumpsuit gently. He couldn’t help it. Jerking out of the way was ingrained into him at this point whether he realized it or not. 

As Flake bolted from the room without another look at either of the two men, he heard Till snap angrily at Richard but didn’t bother to listen. It wasn’t his business anyway.

He stood obediently in front of his door at the end of the hall, waiting for it to be unlocked. He’d then go in and sit on the floor of the little room and wait some more for the van. It had initially reminded him of one of those little rooms where you’d play with a puppy in a petstore before buying it. He certainly felt like an animal most of the time now, and the similarities didn’t stop at just being kept locked in this building.

“Strip,” a voice barked suddenly from behind Flake.

He jumped at the sound and immediately began undressing. His shyness and decency had been eradicated within the first month of being here, especially around the attendants. Besides, non-compliance did nothing but earn him rough treatment or punishments. He got his fill of that during work; he didn’t need it here too. He wanted to keep the organization as approving of him as he could, which was rightfully not very much.

“Last minute request from the clients,” the attendant explained as he took Flake’s jumpsuit and walked away.

Flake shivered as he turned back to his waiting spot. The light breeze of the building’s air conditioning left goosebumps along his pale, exposed skin. Till stepped up beside him, in front of his own doorway. He didn’t have a shirt on today. Till glanced over, briefly running his eyes up and down Flake’s frail and still-bruised body. Flake saw the tiniest flash of a grimace before Till nodded curtly at him. He just blinked in response, not really sure how to respond. 

“You’ll get tomorrow off,” Till said, lowering his head and muttering the words quietly at the floor.

Flake appreciated the courtesy Till used when he needed to communicate, by being quiet and not looking at him. He still hated hearing someone’s voice, but was appreciative of the gesture nonetheless. Flake felt like the man’s words were supposed to be an encouragement or consolation, but he just couldn’t see it that way. All he could think about was if he’d feel it today or not. He knew he would tomorrow-- that’s why they crossed him off the schedule.

The same attendant that had taken Flake’s clothes came back with Till’s accessories. Without a word, the burly roommate held out his arms. Snaps and clicks echoed in the hallway as the attendant firmly locked Till’s wrists together, then did the same with a heavy black harness over his broad chest. He grunted in a way that reminded Flake of a dog irritated at having his collar clipped on. Finally, the attendant slipped the familiar half-gag half-muzzle over Till’s mouth and again locked it into place. The organization had made the mistake of not locking the muzzle once; Flake remembered how quickly Till had been hauled back from his first session that day. His face and torso looked like he’d been splashed with paint, though Flake knew better. Till screamed and roared all the way back to the clinic as he fought the attendants holding him with thrashing kicks and bites.

“Stretch your arms and move your head,” the attendant commanded, and Till obeyed, waving his manacled arms and rolling his head back and forth to prove everything was secure. Flake watched with semi-disinterest. This was just their daily routine, not really anything noteworthy. He wondered if anything in their lives would ever be noteworthy again. Maybe the new roommate would be someone of note, assuming he learned to hopefully not be so chatty. Writing things to communicate was so much better, and quieter.

“Move,” the attendant demanded, and both men backed up to let him unlock their doors. Once he did so, he adjusted the gag to give Till his blue pills, which he dutifully swallowed before the muzzle was reattached. It wouldn’t do to have things not working properly when Till lost the ability to focus; thus, the medication. The attendant didn’t give any to Flake, which made his stomach clench in further apprehension. Not only would he likely not be walking back today, it seemed he was guaranteed not to enjoy the session whatsoever, if he were even going to be conscious. Had he been a religious man, he could see himself praying to be asleep for it all. But he wasn't, so he didn't. The organisation wouldn't let anything too bad happen to him, after all.

A sudden prick on the inside of his arm alerted Flake to the injection of his own medication. He'd been too busy studying the heavy bags under Till's eyes to pay attention to the worker. He was used to this pain, at least. The feeling of a needle in his vein centered and calmed him, in fact. It would take about ten minutes for it to fully kick in, by which point Flake would be safe and sound in the van. Till’s worked faster, so his were given once he reached his client.

"They'll give you more when you need it," the attendant told Flake as he capped the needle and gave them each a light shove forward. 

Till and Flake entered their respective rooms and the doors locked behind them. Flake was left alone in the dark with his slowly building sense of calm and peacefulness as the two waited for their vans.

\---

Later…

\---

Richard spent the day alternating between feeling crappy and bored. He wandered around the room and hallway which took all of ten minutes, max, then had tried to entertain himself as best he could for the rest of the day. He’d found a few books in the footlocker beside the bunkbed, but none looked interesting. He then saw a notebook that had caught his interest for a moment, but he quickly realized it was full of incredibly boring small talk. It looked like Till and Flake had entire conversations written down, he guessed because Flake couldn’t talk and didn’t like it when other people did. 

Till had yelled at him about that this morning. How was he supposed to know the man didn’t like hearing people talking either? Richard still prickled at the tongue lashing the big man had given him, calling him several colorfully-vicious names and warning him not to talk to Flake again. He certainly wouldn’t make that mistake again. Till was twice his size, and had gotten a really scary look in his eyes when he started laying into him. 

Richard was no stranger to people screaming at him. The past few months had been nothing short of a downward spiral for him, and this “work” opportunity had come at such an ideal time. He’d been in worlds of trouble, stealing from friends and even family for something he never thought he’d get wrapped up in.

With a frown, he absently scratched along his left arm and tried to forget the past. This was a chance for him to start over. That’s what the people told him, and he believed them. They were giving him a job, a chance to keep himself clean and start over. Apparently, according to the doctor who’d taken his vitals that morning when he woke up, he’d gotten through the worst of it already. It could only go up from here then, right?

So long as he stayed on his roommates’ good sides, he should be--

A bang suddenly sounded down the hallway, nearly startling Richard off the chair he’d settled back into. He jumped up and went to the doorway, realizing then that there wasn’t a door. Then he saw what had made the banging noise in the first place.

Two attendants in the same bland suits as the others he’d seen were hurrying down the hallway. As they passed the room, Richard saw Flake’s naked, limp body being carried between them. The skinny man’s head was lolling grotesquely as the pair of attendants rushed him to the doctor at the other end of the building. 

Nausea hit Richard full-force as he saw in too-great detail why they were in such a hurry. Flake was bleeding, badly, and left a morbid trail down the hall. The little he glimpsed past the blood was equally as terrible. Bruises, cuts... were those burns, too? Flake didn’t even look like he was still alive. Before he could run after them and figure out what the hell was going on, another bang from the opposite end of the hallway caught Richard’s attention.

Muffled but loud screaming made him shrink back into the room in fear, just barely looking around the doorway to see what was making the noises. 

Till came bursting through one of the doors at the end of the hall, slamming it against the wall hard enough that Richard felt the vibrations from it. He froze in fear as Till spotted him and began thundering toward him, continuing to yell but not saying anything Richard could understand.

Time slowed down enough for Richard to note just how terrifying the man barreling toward him was. Till was shirtless, and instead had some weird-looking harness on his chest, and a pair of plain, worn out jeans. His wrists were handcuffed and connected to bracers up his arms, keeping them tightly together. He also had some kind of headgear that wrapped around his mouth, gagging him but only half-quieting his screams. He was running right toward Richard, and he could pretty clearly see the rage in Till’s manic, widened eyes.

That’s what was so scary, Richard realized as he dropped to the floor and covered his head with his arms to brace for the attack-- Till looked completely and utterly enraged. He was going to kill him.

Just before Richard felt sure he was going to be torn apart, he heard a sharp thud followed by a lot of scuffling. He peeked through his arms and saw that Till had been tackled by no less than four attendants, and was still somehow not fully down. It wasn’t until a fifth person came running over and jabbed a syringe into Till’s thrashing body. In just a few seconds, the roaring and kicking and struggling began to slow, finally quieting the beast.

Richard’s heart was beating way too fast and was so loud as it thumped in his ears. He stared, trembling at the five people dragging Till’s now seemingly lifeless body down to the medical wing.

What the hell was happening here?


End file.
